


A Holiday Break, Of Sorts

by fizzyspines



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bi Scout, Christmas Fluff, Dad Spy (Team Fortress 2), Internalized Homophobia, Mentions of Tom Jones, Multi, Scout is a mamma's boy, Set in 1969, Some non-canon names, Spy and Sniper act like toddlers, Spy tries hard in this one, Very tame descriptions of violence/injury that are far from Canon-Typical Violence, and he loves her very much, only implied, shakes fist at Valve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzyspines/pseuds/fizzyspines
Summary: Now that he is on somewhat better terms with Scout, Spy hopes to have a rather calm Christmas leave in Boston with the boy and his mother.However, another problem arises, in the shape of a gangly Australian assassin.
Relationships: RED Scout/RED Sniper, Scout & Spy (Team Fortress 2), Scout's Mother/Spy (Team Fortress 2), Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	A Holiday Break, Of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> I recently fell back into a Team Fortress 2 rabbithole, and decided to try my hand at writing fanfic for it, because wow, do I love these stupid mercs. Got the inspiration for this one while working on a longer, more serious TF2 fic (that IDK if I'll post yet- I'll see if I'm able to finish it). I was also in a Christmassy mood :) 
> 
> Please don't be too harsh on this, it's my first completed work in a while, I'm still trying to get the hang of these characters (and you'll see, it's still a bit off, but oh well).  
> Hope you enjoy!! (Merry Smissmass!)

He fumbles for the keys with one hand. They're cold and sticky to the touch, even through his glove, which makes them less prehensible than ideal, especially when his other arm is firmly locked around a dusty box of Christmas decorations. 

Through trial and error, and a bit of luck, Spy is able to jam them in the lock to the fancy apartment building front door, then push it with his shoulder. Glass and metal frames tremble as they give in. He stumbles into the hall. A bit of snow sticks to his expensive shoes, so he wipes them off on the big doormat laid underneath him before stepping towards the elevator. To his relief, it opens upon being called. The ride is short, convenient, and he just has the time to readjust his tie with his free hand as he lands on the desired floor. 

The corridor leading to the apartment is silent, neat, and carpeted nicely; the soft fabric on the floor muffles his footsteps, something he takes a small pleasure in. When he stops in front of the door, the Frenchman takes a deep breath. Alright, it's a family holiday, both RED and BLU mercenaries were allowed a week leave to celebrate with their families if they so wished. A welcome relief from the gravel war that all of them had to participate in. Medic had gone to Texas with Engineer, Pyro in tow, Heavy was visiting his mother and sisters in Siberia, Demoman was with his own family, and whoever knew what Soldier was up to... Not his problem, really. 

Spy actually has another, more pressing problem on his mind. 

He knocks at the door. 

"Comin'!'' a woman's voice echoes from behind it, followed by a sound of slippers sliding against the floor. She opens promptly. "Ah, darlin'! You managed to find them, thank you soooo much," she tiptoes to peck him on the lips, "let me get that for you! Get in, get in! I was just about t'make dinner." 

After taking the box, the short woman smiles at him and shuffles towards the counter. Spy quietly closes the door. 

"Jeremy! Your pa came back with the... the things! Can you take care of them?" she addresses her son, who is presently sitting on the couch. 

"Sure, ma!" Scout replies from the living room. His stare crosses with Spy. After a few seconds, he smiles at the older man. "Hey Sp- pa!" 

Their relationship had improved over the last year. The previous Christmas had been tense for sure, but the two men had grown beyond that. They still didn't see eye to eye on a number of things; one they agreed on however was trying to be a family during this time of celebration. 

No, Scout isn't the current problem Spy has to face. 

Rather, the person who is sprawled on the couch next to his son, an arm flung around the latter's shoulders. 

"Hiya, 'Dad'." Sniper salutes him with a smirk, to which Spy replies with a disgruntled scowl. 

Scout pushes himself up on the couch to get to the box, and winces slightly when he puts some accidental pressure on his arm brace- an unfortunate fall on the icy pavement when they arrived this morning, nothing too serious but the weight of that idiot was enough to hurt a hapless left wrist caught between his body and the cement-, prompting Sniper to fuss a little over him. 

"Ye okay, Roo? I can take care of it if ye want." 

"Nah, nah I'm fine. But y'can help me decorate the tree!" Scout points with his uninjured hand to a small, naked fir tree awaiting decorations. "If we don' complete it before my nephews and nieces arrive, they will be extra disappointed!" with some help from Sniper, he manages to get up. "There ya go! Wanna join, pa?"

Spy sneers at the sight of the Australian so close to his only child. In an intimate, non professional way. "I will pass." 

The boy sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, averting his look. He's noticeably a lot calmer when he's around his mother. "Ah well, okay then." he quickly grabs the box to pass it over to Sniper. "Hold it open." 

Their gangly guest fixes his eyes on the Frenchman, frowning slightly, then takes the box from Scout. Ignoring this, Spy walks behind the counter towards his girlfriend. He places his arm around her waist. The gesture startles her slightly.

"Ooh! You spooked me! I thought you went out for a smoke."

Spy sighs, then rests his masked head on her shoulder. "Believe me, I need one. Join me?" 

"Hmmm... I gotta cook, hun. We can go t'the balcony later after dinner." she tells him, stirring the mash in the pot, and he gives her a noncommittal hum as an answer. "You okay? You went out like this...Not even a scarf or a hat... you didn't catch a cold didya?" 

"Non. I feel fine." 

"If you're sure, hun. You can always go crash on the bed, I can call you for dinner."

He squeezes her and she squeaks a bit. "I'm fine. Really, Ciara." 

"He he. Okay. I can't help but worry. You've been off since you arrived with Jeremy and his boyfriend." 

"Travel sickness." he lies to her, even if the aircraft they took from New Mexico to Boston was neither comfortable nor safe. 

Courtesy of MannCo. 

No. He couldn't tell her that what was really bothering him was his son currently fooling around with an assassin from their team. A disgusting, filthy, unwashed Bushman with no proper bathroom manners, to top it all off. 

Said Bushman has his hand on Scout's small of the back as he puts a decoration of one of the top branches that the shorter boy cannot reach. Spy's blood boils at the sight. He settles down rapidly, though. "Dinner will help," he assures, half-heartedly. 

He had approved of Miss Pauling. True, it didn't work out too well and the both of them agreed to break it off on mutual terms, but it had given Spy some hope in his son's ability to develop actual good tastes in mates. Sniper was just a blatant piss poor excuse of a date. Some sort of rebound because Scout took the break up more badly than he let on. A few months ago he had found himself gazing blankly into a camp fire near Sniper's van, sharing a few beers with him and talking about his failed love life, and... one thing led to another, the two of them started to spend more time together. 

Sniper is probably one of the more reclusive RED mercenaries. The Frenchman couldn't comprehend how he managed to deal with Scout's overwhelming extrovert persona; a flat out wonder that rattled his brain. But there he was, in the same place as him for the holidays, something he never thought to live through. 

And what an ordeal. At least Ciara's soothing presence helps him go through it.

"I'm so happy to have ya both here, ya have no idea, darlin'" she tells Spy, "I was so scared that awful woman wouldn't let you and Jerm come back this year." 

He grimaces, despite the warmth that installs itself in the pit of his stomach. "Ah well. I don't have to think about her for a week, so let's forget she exists, oui?" He doesn't need images of the Administrator to plague his mind while he's away on holiday. 

Ciara nods slightly, still focused on the food. "Sure hun," she doesn't particularly like their jobs, "We can do that." 

"Good." he kisses the back of her head, content. 

"Mr Mundy!" she calls out to Sniper and he snaps his head towards her, hands full of tinsel, "How'd ya like your meat? Medium? Well cooked?" 

This pulls Spy right back into reality. He grits his teeth, overtaken by the irresistible need to choke Sniper with that tinsel. 

"Please, Mrs O'Donovan, call me Jack- Mr Mundy's my old man." Sniper replies softly, "And I like it medium rare, always better when meat's soft and red, don't ye think?" he gives Spy a wry look. 

Spy is about to shank a motherfucker.

Fortunately, Ciara interrupts any murderous thought. "Ha, okay Jack, but on th'condition that y'call me Ciara, as well. And medium rare. Y'got it." 

Before Sniper gets back to helping Scout with the tree, Spy pulls away from his girlfriend. "Sniper? A word." his voice is low, and he points towards the door leading to the rest of the apartment. 

"Yeah? Sure." the other shrugs. He glances towards Scout.

"Ya, go ahead, I'm gonna help ma with th'table anyway, we can continue later." 

Sniper nods briefly. Spy shows him the way, wordlessly, and lets him walk in first. He leads the younger mercenary in the bathroom towards the end of the corridor. Once they're both in, standing awkwardly between the tiled walls, Spy closes the door. 

"Mind telling me what that was?" he gets right to the point, voice hushed even if Ciara and their son probably cannot hear him anyway, "What are you playing at?" 

Sniper sits on the border of the bathtub. "Look. That was uncalled for. I went too far, I'm sorry." 

The apology is unexpected, and Spy, ready to argue, trips on his words. "What." Sniper looks up to him like a child about to be reprimanded. Which, considering his tired mug, is absolutely off-putting.

"He's still yer kid, I shouldn't make comments like these." 

"Huh?"

"Not in front of you or his mother." _Even if she didn't really catch it_ , but he doesn't add that.

Spy blinks. "Hum. Well. Yes, you shouldn't have, I'm glad we can agree on this." 

"That all ye wanted to t'talk t'me about, Spook? Can I..." he gets ready to stand up, but Spy gestures him not to. 

"Non. I'm not done. I want you to know that I resent the fact that you're here." he continues, despite the frown on his coworker's face, "That you're letting Scout fool around with you. I thought you had better class than that." 

God. He really needs a smoke. Sniper scratches the side of his mouth, which is twisted in a displeased pout. 

"Y'know," the Australian says calmly, "At first yer whole 'protective dad' shtick was almost endearin', it was fun t'mess with for a while, but this is gettin' old. Yer so full of shit." 

"Pardon?" Spy's eye twitches.

"Honest. Ye believe I'm gonna buy into this caring bullshit? Ye haven't been around for most of his life, and now yer playing parent? What a load of crap." he clicks his tongue, disgusted by the idea of having this argument right now. "Besides, I ain't cradle robbing here, so don't ye DARE insinuate I'm takin' advantage of him. He's 24, for Chrissake, and I'm not that much older, remember? He can make his own decisions, mate." 

There's a pause. 

"He don't need you, so stop pretendin'." 

It's very hard for Spy to keep his cool, and he finds himself grabbing at the Australian's collar. "I ought to-"

"Léonard! Jack! Dinner's ready!" Ciara calls from the dining area, loud enough to reach their ears. "Come quick before it gets cold!"

Sniper has a hand balled into a fist ready to knock Spy's teeth out for touching him. "Ye heard the lady." 

They both let go of each other, and clear their throats. After adjusting their appearances, they leave the relatively small space to get back to the table. Scout's mum is busy cutting his steak into pieces like she did when he was just a kid, taking his hurt wrist as an excuse to do it. He, on the other hand, doesn't focus on the food, but throws a glare at both men, which takes them aback. Neither of them had ever seen Scout this genuinely upset. 

Sniper rubs the back of his neck. Looks like he's getting an earful later on. Spy takes place next to Ciara just as she finishes her handiwork. "There ya go, baby. Now eat up!" 

"You really didn't have to, ma."

"Pshh, no need to hurt your poor arm any further. Eat!"

He shakes his head, digging his fork into the mashed potatoes. "Unbelievable,"

"Oh don't give me that, Jerm, ya always so scrawny I wonder what they feed you." 

"Engie cooks up a mean chili, right, Snipes?" 

Sniper finishes to swallow his food before he replies anything. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, which surprises Spy. In a bad way. "Yah, he's right, oftentimes we have left over for a few days, it's great." 

"He's like a powerhouse, when he does that. You should see him, ma: picture this small Texan man carryin' around this huuuuge cooking pot that's about half his size wit' his chubby arms." 

Ciara giggles. She tucks her hair behind her ear. Spy loves how she lights up everytime she smiles. "Well if he's feedin' all ya eight ravenous boys then yeah I can totally picture it! I know what it is, cooking for eight little guys, after all." 

"Engie's just great. He's looking after everyone at th'base," Scout says fondly. "You'd like him a lot." 

His mother nods. "I bet. I'd love to meet your remaining colleagues, they sound real fun!" 

"More or less." Spy interjects for the first time during this meal, but his tone betrays his lack of sincerity, so it earns him smirks from both younger mercenaries at the table. Ciara swats at him with her napkin. 

"Ah, don't be like this," 

"I'm serious! One of them eats aspirin for breakfast," the Frenchman chuckles, getting back to his food. Scout looks at his father, relieved. The mood seems to have lightened all of a sudden, which he is incredibly thankful for. 

They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Ciara decides to break it.

"Well, either way, I'm glad Jerm brought you back, Jack. It was high time I met you; he's been raving about you for months on the phone." 

"Ma!" her son blushes furiously, forking mash and meat in his face as a means to avoid looking at either of them. 

Spy tries not to sneer at the revelation. Sniper raises his eyebrows. "Did he?" 

"Sure! I kept hearin' about your job prowess and work ethic and all. Very cute when he rambles, ain't he?" 

"Oh my god, ma, please stop," the boy is bright red, his right hand covers most of his face except for his ears and grin. 

Sniper looks starstruck, and it makes Spy roll his eyes. "Yeah. He really is." 

"Guys, I'm beggin' here." 

"Hmm? Are ye, now?" his boyfriend teases, back to his regular self, jabbing an index finger in the boy's unprotected left side. The latter squeaks, in the exact same manner his mother does. "Ye sure it's enough?" 

Scout holds his fork defensively in front of him. "Hey! Not fair! I should've known y'both would be in cahoots in no time," he lets out. "I've made a terrible mistake!"

To be put on the spot was expected from a family dinner, but this is much more than he could possibly handle from a first meeting between Sniper and his mom. She really has a way to connect even with the most reserved types; no wonder she managed to build something with Spy. If she could have the Frenchman speak for hours on end, she could do just the same with Sniper. 

Him and Scout are now engaged in a mock battle with their forks.

"Stop foolin' around, boys!" Ciara giggles, "Eat ya food." They both stop right away and mumble some apologies. "Aren't they great, darlin'?" she turns towards Spy as she asks him, but his intense, steely stare on the young men in front of him cuts her off immediately. "Darlin'? Ye okay?" 

She nudges him a little. He drops his knife. This attracts Sniper's attention and erases the previous smile on the Australian's face. 

"Hm? I'm well." Spy breaks eye contact. "I just really need that smoke, now." 

"Oh, sure." Ciara gives his hand a small pat when he puts it on her shoulder. "I'll reheat your dinner?" 

He shakes his head. "No need." then, standing up, he grabs his pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, "Everyone." 

They don't speak for a while, the silence now awkward, unlike before. From behind the curtains, Spy's dark form is leaning on the guard rail, looking into the streets. A puff of smoke surrounds his face. 

Sniper is halfway turned towards him in his chair, with his arm resting on its back. That prick. He could've kept his attitude to himself. Cramping himself in a comically small bathroom for a cliché dad talk was something he could deal with, but ruining the mood? Absolutely petty. 

"Don't you worry about him, honey, Léon's always been like that," Scout's mum reassures him, "But you probably knew that already? He just needs space." 

"Sure," Sniper exhales. "Space." 

Scout has his head in his right hand. One of his legs fidgets slightly under the table. The older mercenary doesn't need to ask to feel the mortification and frustration seeping from him. Anyone with two eyes could see. 

Even his mother, but bless her, she doesn't comment. She knows her youngest son enough to not push. 

"It's getting cold, boys." is all she says before finishing her plate. 

* * *

"What did Spy tell you?" 

"Hmm?" 

They took the bunk beds. It was Scout's idea, so as to avoid any remarks from his father about him and Sniper sleeping under the same sheets. Those bunk beds used to belong to Scout and the youngest of his older brothers, Jacob; thus he naturally took the top one to fulfill a childhood fantasy of his. A rather underwhelming one, he's come to realise.

He throws his baseball lazily at the ceiling, then catches it again, then repeats. 

"Before dinner, when he dragged you out of the livin' room."

Sniper just lies on his mattress, silent for a moment. It's too small; his feet are dangling a few centimeters above the ground. But he's used to that. Not even the bed in his van can fit his height. 

"Heh, nothing worthwhile. Just gave me a bullshit protective dad talk."

"Ugh."

The portion of wall above the bottom bed, lit up by a lamp on the nightstand, is still decorated with Jeremy's baseball posters, a Boston Red Sox flag, as well as a few drawings during his high school days. Sniper fixes his eyes on the doodle of a little koala. He snorts. 

"What's the matter?" the ball stops bouncing against the ceiling for a moment. 

"Nah I was just checking that little koala you drew. Cute." 

"Oh yeah. I forgot about it." 

There's a pause. 

"Snipes."

"Yeah?" 

"I'm sorry he's bein' like this." Scout starts tossing the ball again, "It's weird when he does that." 

"I mean, I did make an off-handed comment and apologised for it. Dunno why he's so worked up, though. We're both adults." 

"Think he's tryin' to make things right?"

"Dunno." Sniper shrugs. "Dun care." 

"Yeah." a sigh escapes from the younger man. "Or maybe..." he starts, but he stops himself. 

Sniper hears shuffling above him. "Maybe what?" he inquires. 

"Nah, nothing." 

He's saddened to witness Scout with such low energy, and something probably gnawing at his mind, but as open as the boy acts in general, Sniper can't bring himself to force him to talk if he doesn't want to. Emotions had never been his thing, either way. Well, he could try for the people he cared about if he put his mind to it.

Maybe when the time calls for it. 

Suddenly, there's a shift in weight on the top bunk, and he blinks as Scout jumps down without making a noise. 

"Scoot over," he tells Sniper, even though he doesn't really wait for him to move and just lays himself on top of him. 

"Roo, this is going t'be so uncomfy," the Australian tells him, chuckling, and Scout simply shrugs. 

"You really mind that?" 

He secures his arm around Scout, who exudes a soothing warmth. Better than the blanket he's under. He smiles slightly. "Nah." 

Reaching his other arm out, he turns the light off. 

* * *

When he wakes up, his boyfriend is gone, he can barely feel his limbs and there's chatter coming from the dining area. The alarm clock next to him indicates 7.30 AM. Despite being early, it still beats waking up at 5 AM to be ready in time for the usual daily bloodbath. Scout's mum did also mention that they had to go into town today. 

Sniper props himself up with one arm. Better make himself presentable before joining his hosts, so he opts to take a quick, refreshing shower. When he enters the bathroom, he tries to ignore the ridiculous encounter with Spy there last evening. 

"So!" Ciara's energetic voice welcomes him as he gets to the living room. She's addressing her son, seated at the counter, over a plate of fresh scrambled eggs, and he looks just as energetic as her, "We've still got a lot to prepare before your brothers start comin' in tomorrow, we still gotta get the last few gifts for the kids, wrap em up... and we also gotta get things for the Christmas dinner...'' She makes a list. 

Scout is not touching his eggs yet, he's engrossed in what his mother is telling him, like he's getting an assignment from Miss Pauling. None of them notice Sniper. Unlike Spy, who's leaning next to the coffee machine, a mug in one hand and the newspaper in the other. The Frenchman just ignores him. 

"Your brother Michael called, he ain't coming, his plane got snowed in..." she continues. "It's a pity but he'll try to make New Year's, at least." 

"Ah damn, I missed him when he was passin' through New Mexico, I was hopin' to see him... Oh well." he turns his stare towards Sniper. "Hey Snipes! We woke you?" 

Sniper shakes his head. " s'all good. Woke up on my own." 

"Good mornin' Jack!" Ciara greets him, putting her notepad down. "What d'ya usually get for breakfast? Coffee? Tea? We also have some OJ, I think." 

"Coffee. But it's fine, I can get it myself." 

"You're a real peach, you know that? I need to go wash actually, since you all up now. We're going to town, you comin' I hope?" 

Sniper gives her a thumbs up. "Of course!" 

"Great!" she pats his arm affectionately as she passes by him, "I'll be quick. Play nice, boys!" 

Soon, the shower turns on. Sniper makes his way towards the coffee machine, not without kissing the top of Scout's head on the way.

"How's yer arm, Roo?" he asks.

"Still hurts like a bi- a lot, but eh, I'll live." 

Sniper ruffles his hair. To his utter dismay, Spy doesn't seem intent on moving away from the machine. It's fine, he knows how to be the bigger person anyway. He swiftly gets a cup from one of the cabinets. 

Just as he thought Spy would remain silent and simply dismiss him, the Frenchman makes a comment. "Oh. You showered this morning. How unusual." 

Okay. _Fuck being the bigger person._

"I could say the same to ye, ye stin-"

Sniper's interrupted by a fist loudly slamming on the counter. The two men shudder. They turn their eyes to the origin of the sound; Scout's good hand is trembling against the flat surface, and he's giving them the same glare as the day before.

"What the fuck. What the fuck has gotten int'ya both?!" 

They briefly look at each other, then back at Scout. 

"Why you actin' like idiots? I can't believe I'm the one tellin' ya off right now!" 

"Jeremy-" Spy tries, to no avail. The young man gestures him to shut up.

"No! You listen to me, chuckleheads," he points his fork towards the corridor leading to the bathroom, where his mother is currently located, "I'm not lettin' you ruin Christmas for ma, okay? So quit bein' dumbasses and get your acts together! Freakin' unbelievable!" 

None of the others know how to respond. This kind of behaviour coming from Scout is unusual, but then again, they never really see him around his mother. 

"Cause I swear, if you don't, I'll kick both your asses. Understood?" 

The two men nod slowly after a few seconds. 

"Good. She don't need that kinna stress." the boy gets a forkful of now lukewarm eggs. "Jesus, you guys. C'mon." 

The rest of the breakfast is eaten in silence, save for Ciara's faint humming at the other end of the apartment. Huh, Sniper stands corrected. _You can hear a lot from the bathroom._

* * *

Nothing of notice happens during the next few hours. The four of them go out to get the remaining items for Christmas; Spy and Sniper keep a healthy distance between each other, and only address either Scout or his mum separately. 

Ciara has her hand coiled around her son's right arm while she walks. He is not a very tall boy by any means, but next to his very short mother, he almost looks like a giant. Pacing a few meters behind them, Spy looks at them fondly. For a brief moment, he muses about how things could've played out had he made different choices; how he could have been there to watch Jeremy grow up and give his mother the stability and love she had desperately needed all these years. If he hadn't been a coward who could not deal with the consequences of his behaviour... His heart sinks. Maybe he could've had a family. And maybe neither him nor his son would be stuck in that stupid gravel war. At this, the Frenchman takes a very long drag of his cigarette. 

Sniper catches Spy's pensive expression. He huffs at it. As long as he's not causing any trouble, he couldn't care less about his state of mind.

The streets are rather busy at this time of the afternoon; a lot of people are out for tardy Christmas errands, just like they are. Scout makes sure no one bumps accidentally or disturbs his mother while she's peering at the shops for her next purchase. Her son's more than generous salary is helping those expenses, even if he had to argue with her a long time before she had accepted the money. 

How he still had enough money after buying all this Tom Jones memorabilia remains a mystery to Spy, and a secret to Ciara. 

Speaking of Tom Jones... 

Spy's hand darts to his chin, gears turning in his head. As brief as the look through Scout's ridiculous collection was, he didn't see any actual records in there, probably because the only turntable at the base belonged to Medic, and Medic would only allow classical music to play on there (except for Wagner, that man had a particular distaste for Wagner). 

But Ciara did have one as well. 

And Spy already got something for her, a custom made dress imported from France, as well as a hat from his own hometown of Lyon he had ordered specially for the occasion, but he didn't get anything for his son. 

It hits him like a brick. 

_He didn't get anything for his son._

Not the best course of action, in a long-term campaign to make amends. Any social faux pas like this coming from him is absolutely unacceptable, thus he has to rectify it immediately. "Ciara, ma chérie," he catches up to her, "I need to run a personal errand, I will come back a little later." 

"Sure! Go ahead! Jerm n' I are gonna go into that toy store anyway," she points a two-story boutique a few meters away, its display window packed with various playthings of any kind that Spy doesn’t really have the patience to pay attention to, "we'll be a while; we can wait outside for you if we're done before you." 

"You're incredible. Thank you." tilting her chin up, he kisses her cheek. Their son decides to look the other way, embarrassed. 

Ciara watches him disappear into the crowd, then she steers Scout in the direction of the toy store. 

Spy had spotted a music shop, earlier, just up the street. With a little chance, he can get it done in record time. _Ni vu ni connu_. And if Ciara or Scout asks anything about it, he will lie about getting a Jacques Brel or Georges Brassens album for himself- not that he expects to find any of those in a small Boston-based store. He’d already been disappointed by the selection of some music shops this side of the Atlantic Ocean. From the outside, the place looks rather empty, save for a few browsing patrons. 

"What're ye doing?" 

Spy startles just as he's about to enter. He lets go of the handle with a breathless curse. Next to him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, that cursed Bushman gives him an inquisitive look from behind his yellow tinted glasses. 

"None of your business," the Frenchman grunts rather roughly for his usual demeanour. 

"Hmm! Suspicious," 

"Why? Can't a man get his melodic indulgence?" 

Sniper strangles a chuckle. " 'Melodic indulgence', he says. Sure, mate. I don't see why not." 

"Thank you," Spy's tone is acidic to say the least, "Now shoo, go piss in a jar or something." 

"Real mature, Spook." Sniper pushes himself off the wall. For a short instant, Spy expects him to either lunge at him or take a walk, but he does neither of those things. 

"Well, what can I say. One of us has to be." 

Alright, he's probably nudging the other a bit too much at this point. Again, nothing happens. Sniper simply stands there, his arms still crossed. They're staring at each other; a few passersby turn curious looks to them. Spy's gloved fists clench and unclench. 

What a waste of time. 

"What if I wanted to get my 'melodic indulgence' as well?" The Australian asks.

He feels his eyebrows twitch ever so slightly at the question. Sniper is the last person that needs to know about his mistake. However, if Spy starts to insist on driving him away, he would look too suspicious, even for a simpleton such as his teammate. 

So he opts for indifference. 

"None of my business." Spy shrugs. 

"Cheers." Sniper cuts dryly, even tipping his hat for good measure. "After you, then." 

Some patrons who were observing the stare down from inside of the music shop are now feigning to go back about their business when the two men calmly walk in. They both greet the vendor, then go in separate directions. A faint echo of some classic Christmas song compilation plays on a shabby old turntable behind the counter. 

Spy politely shuffles around an old lady looking through the jazz section towards where the variety albums seemed to be kept. Thank god for the alphabetical order labels, because the store looks well furnished. 

He takes a pause. Another unforeseen problem poses itself: is Tom Jones filed under J (for Jones) or T (for Tom)? 

A glance back towards the clerk reveals that Sniper is stationed not too far from them, as such he'd hear any inquiry concerning the Welsh singer he knows to be Scout’s favourite. 

That means an utter mission failure. He rolls his eyes. A look through the J section yields absolutely nothing. He thankfully finds what he's looking for in the Ts. The new Tom Jones Scout had raved about for a while but couldn't get. 

"I knew it." 

Spy purses his lips. It takes all of his patience not to throw a swing at the Australian.

"Ye forgot t'buy yer kid something." 

"It's for me." the Frenchman doesn't look at him. 

"Ah, I see. My bad. Maybe ye _DO_ care." Spy doesn't reply to this, "Ye don't mind if I get a copy for Scout, then? I mean, I already got him something, obviously, but this looks like a nice little bonus gi-" his fingers reach for the vinyl in its neatly square pocket. The other slaps them out of the way. 

"Don't. Touch. That. Record." 

"Or what? Are ye gonna fight me for it?"

The threat is empty, and it doesn't go anywhere, because before they even engage, they hear a loud shriek outside, in the street. 

They immediately disregard the object of their conflict. They look at each other.

"Ciara!" Spy exclaims, bursting out. 

He spots her, in front of the store she had indicated earlier, struggling for her purse against a robber. Scout is slumped against the wall behind her, his good hand cradling his face. Blood drips abundantly through his fingers. A second assailant raises his fist and strikes him again, then picks the bag Scout had dropped before the first punch. His mother loses her fight, the purse slips right out of her hands, and both thieves sprint away through the crowd.

Nobody moves to help them. 

"Fuck- they're so lucky- if I didn't have an arm brace, I would've fuckin' killed them," 

"Your language, young man!" she sternly tells him, despite being pretty shaken herself. "Oh, what are we going t'do? That was yer money in there..." 

"Are you both alright?" Spy asks immediately upon reaching them.

"I just got scared," Ciara reassures him, "but Jerm-" 

Scout gives them a bloody thumbs up. The lower half of his face is completely smeared with red. His father winces. "We'll take care of it. Sc- Jeremy, you stay with your mother. Sniper?" 

Sniper nods. "Spy." 

"Let's go after them." 

* * *

"I can't believe y’punched Jeremy O'Donovan. _Twice_." 

The robbers had ducked in a dead end alley after running for a few seconds in between the crowd, and, after making sure they weren't followed, crouched behind a dumpster to inspect the contents of the stolen purse. The one who just talked rummages furiously through it. 

The other lights a cigarette.

"Heh. Serves him right, he and one of his brothers beat me up a few years ago. Over a stolen bicycle." 

"Honestly, I was about to turn away as soon as I saw it was his mother but you just. Psh. Went in there full force." 

"He's a sucker." 

"Maybe, but take a look at this," the man takes out a few dollar bills out of the bag, "there's more," 

"Oh wow, no wonder they were able to afford all that crap," his companion nudges the other bag with the tip of his shoe, taking a drag out of his smoke. "How'd ya reckon they got so loaded?" 

"Ahem," Spy appears from seemingly nowhere, which throws them off, considering there's only the walled off end of the alley behind him. They gawk at him, speechless. He disdainfully continues, "Gentlemen, I believe this does not belong to you." 

The one smoking shakes himself out of his stupor, "Oh yeah, what're you gonna do about it?"

Not granting him the privilege of a spoken answer, he slams the man's head into the bricks. 

The other springs to his feet, terrified by the agonised wails that escape his friend. Eyes fixed on Spy, he slowly backs up, only to hit against someone else. 

He cranes his head up. 

Sniper smiles down at him. "G'day," he tips his hat. The man loses his colours and pulls away. This puts him in prime position to receive a well placed right hook. He stumbles backwards, and Spy catches him by the shoulders, then steadies him. 

"Mon ami, be careful, watch your step." 

"Wh- wha..." 

Spy shakes his head. He turns the man towards him, dusting his shirt a little. "There, there. All good?" the thief nods. "Parfait." 

This last word is punctuated by an uppercut. He collapses to the ground, stunned from the strike to his jaw. The Frenchman wipes his hands. 

"That takes care of that." 

Just as he starts to move towards the discarded purse on the ground, the other thief stirs. 

"Spy! Behind you!" 

He dodges just in time out of a shaky swing, instantly retaliating with a kick to the midsection, then, his butterfly knife pulled out of his sleeve, he stabs his assailant in the shoulder. Spy throws him to the ground, and kicks him a few times. 

"I think he's down for the count," Sniper walks towards him, admittedly a little disturbed by this display of gratuitous violence. 

"Yes. Thank you for the warning." Spy adjusts his tie. Crouching to get his blade back, he whips out a handkerchief to wipe the blood off. 

"S'nothing." 

"Is everything there?" 

"I s'ppose so." he looks around to the different items strewn on the ground. "Yeah, nothing's missing." 

The older mercenary stands up, pocketing his knife. "Let's collect them, then." 

Sniper responds in the affirmative and gets to it. Spy joins him to help. They don't talk or look at each other while busy regrouping the stolen goods, but neither of them retain any of the animosity felt before. Professionalism takes its place, just like when they team up on the battlefield. 

And they do make a pretty good team. 

Sniper wipes his nose. "Good kick." 

Spy huffs. "Solid right hook." 

He blinks as the Australian's gangly hand enters his field of vision. When he snaps his head to him, Spy witnesses a sincere look of admiration. 

"Truce?" Sniper offers. 

"Truce." his companion confirms, shaking his hand firmly. After mulling it over, he adds, "I have been unfair to you." 

"Yeah?" Sniper stands up, offering his hand again. Spy takes it to get pulled to his feet. 

"Truly, Scout and his mother are happy you're spending the holidays here and I... should not let personal grievances interfere. As much as I hate to admit it... my idiotic son had a point." 

One of the rare occasions that showed Spy a more sensible side to Scout. Ultimately, he is thankful for it. 

"It's fine. Yer lookin' out for them. I was out of line to assume ye didn't care." Sniper scratches his nape, "I guess ye have yer own way of caring." 

"What about you? Do you truly care?" he signals the other to follow him out of the dead end.

"Of course! Y'know, when the missus left 'im, he was so broken up, and I was there to pick up the pieces," Sniper explains, walking next to him, "First time I'd ever seen him like that. Quiet, reserved." 

"Vulnerable?" Spy says, eyebrow raised.

"Nah- maybe. But not in any way to take advantage of." Sniper bounces back, "I just... I wasn't expectin' him to come seek me out to talk. He usually goes t'the Engineer for those things." 

"You're a good listener," the Frenchman concedes.

"Dunno about that, really." he takes a small pause. "After that, things happened. Naturally. I would never put him in an uncomfortable situation. Promise.” 

"I see. I appreciate it." 

They don't talk for a few seconds as they near the place where Ciara and her son chose to wait for them. Spy aches for another smoke. He'll wait until he's back at the apartment. Scout's voice rises just around the corner, and Spy extends his arm in front of Sniper to stop him. He motions him to keep quiet. 

"Damn it-"

"Just hold your head backwards, baby. I think the bleeding's stopped. Mostly." Ciara gently inspects his face, moving it slowly as to not cause further harm, "do you need another tissue?" 

"Nah, I'm fine," he holds one tightly in his clenched fist already, it's spotted with red blotches. 

"We'll clean you up when your pa and Jack come back, don't worry." she notices his eyes water, "Honey? What's the matter?" 

"I'm so sorry, ma... they took your things... and the gifts..." 

She shakes her head. "It's not your fault! Besides, what's more important is that we're both okay. I'm sure we'll get the things back." 

"Everything's a mess,"

"Shhh... It's going to be okay," his mother pats his arm reassuringly, voice soothing. 

"No. No it's not!" he actually controls his outburst, and he's directing his anger solely at himself. "First pa is actin' out, and then Snipes takes his bait, and then, this," he sighs, "whatever is happening, right now, so what's next?" 

"Hang on, what do you mean your pa's been acting out?" 

Scout turns a slow, defeated look to her. He slumps even more against the wall. If he previously managed to keep some form of composure, it is now all gone; a few angry tears make it past his eyelids. For the sake of his mother, he had been keeping most of his frustration bottled up, sadly, he's reached his limit. Both Spy and Sniper decide to stay put. The kid needs this time alone with his mother. Out of three of them, she's the one he feels more comfortable opening up to at the moment. 

"You didn't notice how off he's been?" 

Sniper side glances at Spy. The latter listens in carefully. 

"Well, I mean- yeah, but I put on account of the weather, and your jobs sound pretty taxing, he hasn't relaxed yet-" 

"That's not it, no. He's okay when he's with you. As soon as he sees me with Snipes, his mood changes. 'Cause he's disgusted with me." 

"Jeremy." Ciara interrupts him, "Don't." 

"Oh, come on, now." the youth rolls his eyes, "I'm glad you’re okay with it, ma, that's all that counts for me. Even then, I know he's disgusted with me- for being with a guy, I mean. He's always been constantly disappointed ever since he met me, even b'fore I knew he was my dad, and this is just the latest achievement in the long, long string of reasons why he resents me. Except now he's also disgusted." 

Spy's eyes close reflexively, pained. As for Sniper, he's at a loss; that is probably the concern Scout had tried to voice the night before, but couldn't. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. 

"Alright, ya quit your badmouthin' about your father, young man,'' his mother says, "It's not true. He's not like this, he's a better man than that." 

"But it's true. And I try to not care, but f-" he catches himself right before swearing, "It still hurts. What he thinks of me. Back at th'base, he just flat out ignores me and Snipes, thank God for that, but now that we're all stuck in the same place..." he chokes up. "I'm alright. It's fine. It's all fine."

Ciara gives him a very sympathetic look. Afterwards, they both fall silent. 

Spy drags his hand across his face. 

"Mate," Sniper whispers, almost inaudible. 

"I know, I know." he replies in the same volume, handing the bag in his possession to the Australian. "Take them back home safely. I'll join you there later." to the other's puzzled expression, he adds, "Please." 

"Sure." 

After a wordless expression of gratitude, Spy walks away.

* * *

This time, he has the keys ready as he reaches the front door to the apartment building. Granted, he hasn't dropped them in the muddy snow like the night before, and the slick, compact package he has under his arm takes way less space than a dusty old box full of Christmas decorations. 

The door opens easily. Spy doesn't need to push it with his shoulder. He makes his way towards the lifts; the one he calls takes a little time to come down, however he doesn't mind. Still appreciative of the carpet laid in the corridor, and how it muffles his steps, the Frenchman reaches his girlfriend's apartment and knocks firmly. 

Ciara doesn't reply verbally, but she's near the entrance. She lets him in immediately. 

"Oh, you're here! I was starting t'worry," she tiptoes to kiss his cheeks. Her eyes avert to the parcel he's currently carrying. "What is that?" 

"A record player, with a few albums. For Jeremy. When we get back to base." Spy explains briefly. 

She tilts her head. "Hun, that's so thoughtful! I'm sure he's gonna love it!" 

And Spy is sure he is going to regret offering Scout such power. That's a problem for his future self to deal with. 

"Do you know where he is?" 

"His room, with Jack. They're about t'wrap the gifts for the kids." 

"Alright, can you hold on to this?" he hands her the parcel, "just put it in your room for now. Please?" 

"Sure!" Ciara is careful when handling it. "I'll keep it hidden, you can count on me!" She gives him a wink, and he melts. To think she took him back, after all he's done... 

On her way to her room, Ciara stops in her tracks. "Hun? Are ya gonna talk to Jerm?"

Spy falters slightly, "Yes. I was just going to." 

"Thank you," her voice is very soft. 

The few steps towards the door at the very end of the hallway feel like they're lasting an eternity. Behind that very door, he is going to have to put his poor parenting skills to the test, and that daunting task weighs him down so much, he's forced to take a stop before psyching himself up into action. His eyes stare absentmindedly at the letters in front of him which spell out "Jacob" and "Jeremy", decorated with various baseball stickers and animal pictures. 

He takes a deep breath, and knocks. 

"Sc- Jeremy? May I come in?" 

He hears whispering, then his son finally speaks up. "Yeah, sure!" 

Spy exhales. Alright. He goes in to find both Scout and Sniper seated on the bottom bunk. The older of the two has an arm around the other's waist. Scout rests his head on Sniper's shoulder. This is the quietest state Spy has ever witnessed from his son, and he starts to understand what the Australian meant earlier. 

"Sniper, do you mind, I would like a minute with my son, please." Spy asks him in all humility. 

"Of course" he gets up, but only after planting a large smooch on his boyfriend's cheek, which leaves the latter completely flushed. "Be back later." 

The door closes behind Spy, and for a moment, silence installs itself between him and Scout. The young man quickly fidgets a little, unable to withstand the situation. "What... What didya need?" 

"Can I sit beside you?" Scout nods. Spy takes place on the bed. "How's your face? Better?" 

"Yeah," Scout brushes it reflexively, "Now only my wrist hurts. So I'd say I'm back to normal."

"I _did_ tell you not to run on the icy pavement upon getting out of the cab, didn't I?" 

"I know you did." the boy lowers his eyebrows in disbelief. "Is that all y'came to tell me? 'Cause I don't need this right now, man." 

"No. Listen. I heard you speak to your mother."

"You mean- When I-" he surges in panic, as if he was caught red-handed. And not _literally_ red-handed from poorly nursing a nosebleed. 

"Yes." 

"All of it?" 

"Indeed." 

Scout groans. "Of course you did," he lets himself flop on the bed, mortified. He hits his head against the wall in the process. "Ow," he rubs the back of his head. Spy rolls his eyes. 

"Jeremy, I'm disappointed in you-"

"Here we go." 

Spy frowns. "Let me finish. I'm disappointed in you when you let your feelings get the better of your judgement, and decide to chase down your BLU counterpart because he insulted your favourite baseball team instead of focusing on the objective."

"...What." 

His father holds a finger up. "I'm disappointed when you provoke the enemy Heavy while carrying the intel, or when you convince yourself that flanking the other team on your own without prior consultation with your teammates seems to be an excellent idea. I'm disappointed that you didn't come to me when Miss Pauling broke it off with you, and that you thought Sniper, of all people, would be a better alternative." 

"Look, I-"

"I'm not done. These are just some of the situations that make me disappointed, but the truth is, Jeremy: there are also a lot that remind me how proud I am of you and what you've become." Scout gawks wide eyed at him, speechless, "When you look out for your mother, for example, like you've been doing lately while Sniper and I were..." it still hurts to admit it, "behaving like children. That was spectacularly mature of you. So yes. I am very proud of you." 

Unused to hearing compliments from Spy, Scout starts shifting a little in his place. "Spy, come on, you don't have to do this." 

"I do. You may not know it, but I actually have my fair share of regrets," his mind briefly wanders towards thoughts of Ciara, "However, I refuse to have one of them be rejecting my own son for simply... being himself. I've spent enough years mulling over how I completely failed you and your mother because I was so young and hot-headed to know that by now." 

They already went over this, but it apparently didn't stick with Scout enough. So no hurt in repeating. 

"All I mean to say is. I know I am not a great parent, and I missed my chance on that, clearly. I suppose I was trying to make up for that, badly, and it backfired. But Jeremy, please, believe me when I tell you this. You love who you love, and no one can fault you for that. Alright?" 

"So you don't mind if me and Snipes-"

"Not at all." 

Scout sighs in relief, his good hand on his chest. "Alright. Okay." 

"I surmise that you don't need or care about it, but just in case. As your father, I give you my blessing." he does a little hand twirl to accompany this announcement. 

Scout snorts. "Oh my god. You're right. I don't. Shut up."

The Frenchman smiles a little in return. He briefly ponders about whether or not he should hug him, then decides against it. Instead, he simply squeezes Scout's shoulder affectionately. The boy accepts the gesture. 

"Well, if all is in order now," Spy stands up, "We should get to work before your brothers arrive. Those gifts are not going to wrap themselves." 

As he walks to the door, Scout speaks up. "Hey, Spy- wait, no. Dad?" 

"Yes?" he glances back at the younger man. 

"Thanks," his son lets out, averting his eyes. "For this. It doesn't leave this room though, okay?" 

Spy merely gives him a nod. "No problem."

**Author's Note:**

> PS: Scout's mum's name, Ciara, is pronounced kee-ra. I HC her family as Irish-American. (Don't sue me.)


End file.
